


So Human

by anxious_bees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Partners, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxious_bees/pseuds/anxious_bees
Summary: It's been years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter is a lonely Auror who is less than pleased to find out that he's being forced to pair up with former-rival Draco Malfoy to investigate the multiple murders of Muggles. Though the resentment is still present, the two men are no longer children caught up in a war, even though the scars still remain.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 124
Collections: Drarry26





	So Human

“Kingsley, you have got to be kidding me.”

Kingsley surveyed Harry Potter though a stern gaze as the fresh faced Auror stood with his fists clenched, glaring at the Minister from behind his desk.

“I don’t get what the problem is, Potter,” he said, trying to remain level-headed. “You’ve never had an issue with previous partners.”

Harry looked at him as if he were insane. “I’ve never had a problem with my partners because they’ve never been people that were involved with someone who was out to kill me.”

“I understand you have a hostile history with Mr Malfoy, and that working with him may bring back unpleasant memories, but no one else in the field comes close to his level, and he is an asset to the team.”

“I’m sure he’d be able to level against Dark Magic as he’s had his fair share of experience with it,” Harry said bitterly.

Kingsley inhaled sharply. “Frankly, Potter, I don’t know anyone who’d be able to work with him properly. They don’t want to.”

“Well obviously!” Harry shouted, throwing his hands in the air and began to pace the office. “He’s an ex-Death Eater, for crying out loud. And he’s a snobby prat!”

“And a qualified Auror who is needed in the world,” Kingsley said severely. “Your contempt towards him is logical, but we can’t continue with this divide in our forces – the precise divide we have been fighting to break for years. Lest I remind you that you were the one who testified at his trail and drastically changed his sentence.”

Harry fell silent, cursing Kingsley for making him feel guilty. He knew that no one in their right mind would want to work alongside Malfoy, even after his name was cleared and he only served a year on probation. And he knew Kingsley knew that his ‘hero complex’ would push him to reluctantly allow himself to work with Malfoy for as long as required.

He faced the Minister, bowing his head in respect and defeat. “I will work with him, sir,” he said quietly. “For how long?”

“At minimum, three months.”

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose before nodding, begrudged. 

Kingsley sighed, pushing himself to stand. “Harry – I know that Malfoy has done many things in the war that you may never forgive, and I don’t blame you in the slightest. There are few of those who were sided with Voldemort that have properly been accepted back into wizarding society, which again is fair in some circumstances. But the Malfoys, Narcissa and Draco, they deserve to have some redemption, despite the past. You fought tooth and nail to free them – they haven’t forgotten that. If you work with Malfoy, it may help them integrate more smoothly into society.”

Harry nodded again, his expression smoothing over, becoming impassive. “I understand, Minister.”

Kingsley smiled at him, sitting back down at his desk. Harry hovered for a second longer before bowing and turning swiftly out of his office, travelling down the corridor to his own office. He shut the door behind him, throwing himself into his chair and burying his head in his hands.

Malfoy. Of all Auror partners, it had to be Malfoy.

Harry hadn’t seen him since his trial, and the last he had heard of him was when he was attacked in Diagon Alley once his probation had ended. A pang had vibrated through his chest when he read the headline and saw the moving photo of Malfoy storming back into the Manor, his face swollen and bleeding from various jinxes and hexes. He knew Kingsley was right, that it was time for the Malfoys to be accepted back into the wizarding world. But encouraging this would mean working alongside Draco Malfoy, and Harry didn’t know if he’d be able to stomach it. He was no closer to liking him than he was in his time at Hogwarts. Even now at the age of twenty-one, the childish flare of the rivalry remained, filling his chest with dislike and distain.

Harry knocked his head against his desk, groaning loudly in frustration. He was going to be partners with Draco Malfoy.

*

Several days later, a firm knock sounded on Harry’s door. 

“Come in,” Harry called out, bracing himself for who was about to enter the room. 

Draco Malfoy strode in, coming to a halt in front of the desk.

Everything was sharper somehow, his bones more angular than they used to be, indicating a loss of weight. His eyes were dull and frozen, the grey gleaming blankly, and his mouth was set in a rigid line. His blue and silver work robes billowed around him, making him look taller than he already was. Harry found his chest contracting, his heart rate speeding at the sight of Malfoy standing in front of him. His obvious attractiveness from when they were younger had been emphasised drastically, and Harry’s bisexual ass couldn’t ignore it.

Malfoy looked down on Harry, his expression cold. 

“Good morning, Potter,” he said, his snarl still present. 

Harry stood up, so he was on the same level, feeling a wave of annoyance when he saw how much smaller he was. “Malfoy,” he replied curtly. 

Malfoy smirked, amused by their height difference. “So, I hear that I’m your partner in crime for the foreseeable future,” he continues, striding over to the vacant chair in the corner of the room. 

“Unfortunately so,” Harry said. “And for three months, so not too long, thankfully.”

Malfoy snorted, seating himself, already altering the atmosphere with his obnoxious attitude. “Unfortunately? Oh Potter, you’re breaking my heart,” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers. “You speak as if you’re the only one who’s unhappy with this arrangement, bearing in mind I’m the one who is stuck with the Wonder Boy who’s forever the favourite of the wizarding world. Lucky me.”

Harry gritted his teeth, holding in a growl. “I’m not expecting you to endure me, Malfoy. However, we must work together when required, and will have to trust each other on missions, which doesn’t have to extend to out-of-office hours -”

“Trust you?” Malfoy snorted. “Over my dead body.”

“- thankfully for the both of us. You’ll do paperwork with me in here – “Harry conjured a desk opposite his own, “- and will be in my office at all times, apart from breaks.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Malfoy said tonelessly. 

“Indeed,” Harry replied sharply with equal sarcasm. “My office, my rules, and I advise you don’t piss me off unless you want a report filed to Kingsley.”

“You think I’m going to feel threatened by the idea of you telling on me to the Minister?” Malfoy sneered, though his eyes began to glint dangerously. 

“No need to feel threatened if you don’t fuck up,” Harry spat.

Malfoy stood up and was immediately in front of Harry, wand to his throat. “Don’t underestimate me, Potter,” he hissed, pressing the wood painfully into his jugular. “You may think the sun shines out of your arse, that everyone adores you, and that you’re untouchable, but you’re fucking wrong. I may not be able to physically give you what will inevitably come around, but there are other ways I can get to you.”

Harry felt his tongue dry up as he stared Malfoy down, his throat tightening as he realised that Malfoy was pressed against him, pushing him against his desk. The smell of lavender and mint clogged his airway, making his head spin. Harry ignored how butterflies seemed to awaken in his stomach, blaming his reaction on his hatred and discomfort, and calmly placed a palm on Malfoy’s chest, pushing him firmly away.

“Do what you will, Malfoy. But there are always consequences. And it won’t be hard to put you back on trial if you step out of line – and I can guarantee that there will be no probation in sight.”

Malfoy snarled loudly, expression furious, and pulled the chair behind his desk, sitting himself down heavily. His face was tight, as if he were trying to hold in an outburst of emotion. 

Harry felt slightly guilty, knowing that threatening Azkaban was a low blow. He placed some paperwork in front of Malfoy, allowing him to look over it.

“Several Muggles and their families have been found dead over the past week, all around London, all by the Killing Curse,” Harry said, slipping into his work headspace. “No leads as to who is doing it, yet it is presumed to be a rouge Voldemort supporter who is trying to finish his work, or just a regular Muggle killer. This is our current number one case and is our priority. We’re the head of this investigation, so all our work for the time being will be this. Questions?”

Malfoy finished reading the case file, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Have you tried tracking spells or checked for any DNA left at the crime scenes?” he asked, putting down the paper.

“Our tracking spells have all been blocked, and so far, nothing incriminating has been left behind,” Harry replied.

“You’re clearly using the wrong spells, Potter,” Malfoy smirked, propping his legs up on his desk.

Harry sighed deeply. This was going to be a difficult three months.

*

“Fucking WHAT?!”

Harry winced at Ron’s loud outburst, reaching out quickly to stop Kreacher from dropping the gravy boat he was carrying to the table. Hermione shushed him, but also had her eyebrows raised after Harry told them who his new Auror partner was.

“Harry, you can’t be serious,” she said, looking surprised.

“What she said,” Ron added.

Harry sighed, nodding at Kreacher in thanks before speaking. “Please don’t overreact. I’m no happier about this than you are, but it’s how it is. Working with Malfoy is going to be an absolute bitch, there’s no denying that. However, Kingsley is right – no one wants to work with him, and I’m the only one who will.”

“But you don’t want to,” Ron cut in. “Right?”

“Not particularly,” Harry replied, picking up his knife and fork to start eating. 

Hermione looked thoughtful, pouring gravy on her plate. “Maybe it will be a good thing,” she mused.

A choking sound came from Ron’s general direction, and sure enough, bits of roast potato spat all over the tablecloth around his plate.

“Have you lost your mind?” he almost screamed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You need to calm down, Ron. This isn’t the best situation, but we’ve been in worse, and we’ve gotten through those.” She turned to Harry. “Working with Malfoy may be rocky and difficult at first, but maybe you’ll be able to find a good work dynamic – who knows, maybe you’ll even become friends.”

Harry’s eyebrows disappeared under his curls. “Do you remember Malfoy, Hermione? Do you remember what he did to us? The Manor?”

“I do, Harry – it’s something I’ll never fail to remember,” Hermione said, voice hard. “But do you remember the pressure he was under? How Voldemort was living in his house? How it was likely that his role as Death Eater was forced upon him to punish his dad? As someone who fought incredibly hard to make sure Malfoy and his mother didn’t land in Azkaban, you seem to be retracting a lot of your points – that the Malfoy’s deserve a second chance in the wizarding society. Or did you forget?”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, unable to give an answer. Both Kingsley and Hermione had brought up the Malfoy’s trial, and it made him think – why would he fight so hard to free them if he couldn’t accept them? 

I wanted to save Narcissa, he thought selfishly. She saved me, so I wanted to return the favour. But she wouldn’t leave Malfoy behind.

Hermione was right. Maybe this would help the family.

“I’ll try to be civil towards him,” Harry said, looking at Hermione, ignoring Ron’s splutter of protest. “But he’s making it really difficult. It’s like fourth and fifth year all over again.”

“Once a prick, always a prick,” Ron grumbles.

Hermione shot him an annoyed glance. “Give it time, Harry,” she soothes. “You’re both adults; he’ll get over the old arch-enemy bullshit.”

The subject changed as the three ate through dinner and Kreacher’s famous pumpkin pie, discussing Hermione’s work in Law, Ron helping George out in Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and Neville beginning work at Hogwarts. Kreacher served coffee and tea, and before Harry knew it, it was half past one and Ron and Hermione were putting on their coats and moving towards the exit.

“Thanks for having us over, mate,” Ron said. “Keep us posted on Malfoy, alright?”

Harry nodded, giving him a hug. Ron then turned to Kreacher and gave his thanks.

“Keep a level head, okay?” Hermione asked, embracing him and kissing his cheek, also going to smile at Kreacher, who bowed lowly for her. 

The couple waved goodbye and stepped out of the door. A moment later, he heard them Disapparate. 

Harry was alone. Kreacher had disappeared into his burrow in the corner of the house, and wouldn’t come out unless he called for him, so he was left to his own devices.

When the war ended, Harry had shifted his full attention to clean out Grimmauld Place, so he could start living there properly. Another Fidelius Charm was cast over the house, as press were determined to find Harry at every given opportunity to ask all the questions most people were dying to get answered. He moved in as soon as he could, desperate to hide away from the rest of the wizarding world for a while. Almost immediately, he started to sink in the silence. Sure, he’d have Hermione and Ron over a lot, and he was free to visit their place when he wanted. He even had Andromeda and Teddy around frequently. But most of the time, he was by himself. Even though he loved having his own space, he sometimes wished he had someone to share it with. Having his friends around wasn’t always easy; seeing Hermione and Ron living a cosy life together thinking about having children made him feel empty, like he was missing out. He knew it was ridiculous to feel like he wasn’t living his life, he was only in his early twenties for Christ’s sake, but having died, being raised to fight a war since he was a child, only to have died again has made Harry feel middle aged already.

Harry walked up the stairs, creeping as quietly as he could past Mrs Black’s portrait, and went into his room. He stripped to his underwear, trying not to look at the scars that littered his body as he crawled under his covers. 

He tossed and turned for hours, suffocated by the silence. The size of the bed was overwhelming him, and he wanted to wrestle free from his loneliness. He was embarrassed to realise that tears were pricking his eyes, and he quickly shut them tightly, trying to relax into the mattress. He knew sleep wouldn’t come comfortably, and it would be short due to the inevitable nightmares, but nonetheless, he let his mind wonder as he fell unconscious. 

Surprisingly, his thoughts landed on Malfoy, Malfoy and his eyes, Malfoy and his smirk, Malfoy and his mouth… 

*

Harry and Malfoy stood over the bodies of the Marshalls, another Muggle family that had been killed. They had Confunded the Muggle police, so they wouldn’t interfere as they investigated further into the case. Other wizards were running tests over the corpses.

“Two more cases, and we’re still no closer to finding out who’s responsible,” Harry said, resigned. He didn’t look at the family on the floor, knowing their ghosts would appear in his dreams later. 

“It’s almost impossible to track people who use the Killing Curse,” Malfoy muttered to himself, also avoiding looking at the Muggles. “And this person knows what they’re doing – not a shred of evidence left behind.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do this?” Harry asked to no one in particular, agitated. 

Malfoy coughed dryly. “’We’, Potter,” he said smoothly with a hint of irritation. He forced himself to walk over to the bodies, examining them as calmly as possible. “There’s got to be something – it shouldn’t be that hard. Wizards leave shit behind all the time.”

Harry turned his back on it all, looking out of the window. He’d never had a case this impossible, and the fact that he hadn’t solved it yet was weighing heavily on his conscious – more Muggles were dying and there was nothing he could do.

“Potter,” Malfoy called out, sounding urgent. “Come and look at this.”

“What is it?” 

“Here, Golden Boy,” he said sharply.

Harry reluctantly shuffled over to Malfoy crouching by Mr Marshall, looking over his body. He was observing his arm, his expression curious.

“All the Muggles you’ve found, have at least one of them had their arm positioned like this?” he asked, gesturing to the body’s arm which was laid above his head.

“Um,” Harry noised, puzzled and exasperated. “I don’t know – what does that have to do with anything?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, before using magic to pull down the man’s sleeve. He muttered a spell Harry had never heard before, and suddenly a black line resembling a gash on his arm. Harry had to blink several times to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated. 

“How did you do that?” he whispered hoarsely.

Malfoy flushed, evading Harry’s eyes. “Jugson. He was one of the Death Eaters, but not in the Inner-Circle, so I imagine that’s why he didn’t go on trial. He had his own trademark when he killed Muggles, branding this on their arm, and only the spell I used would reveal it. He’s a psychopath – he only did this for fun and would always go out of his way to put one of his victims’ arms like this to make it clear he was doing it.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, dazed. “Are you sure?”

Malfoy nodded, grim. “Positive. I haven’t heard of anyone else who would do this. One problem – we know who it was, but we have no way to track him.”

Harry was surprised to feel a rush of anger. Not because they now could step forward in the case, but because Malfoy was the reason they were doing so. He knew it was petty and ridiculous and completely fuelled by his fourteen-year-old self, but he couldn’t stand the fact that Malfoy, in his first time outside of the Ministry as an official Auror, had stirred the case back to life, and Harry hadn’t.

Malfoy frowned at Harry, picking up the negative energy radiating off him. “Is that a problem?”

Harry stood up quickly, grabbing Malfoy’s shoulder roughly. “We’re going,” he said shortly.

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised. “What -?”

They Disapparated, appearing back into their office.

Immediately, Malfoy rounded on Harry.

“What the fuck was that?” he spat, his face livid. 

Harry was already cooling down, and his embarrassment was taking over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There was nothing else for us to do there – we have a lead, so we should start following it as soon as we can.”

Malfoy didn’t look convinced. “You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, Potter, and you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes.”

“There’s nothing up,” Harry replied. “Leave it and focus on this.” Swallowing his pride, he sat down and started to write.

Malfoy stood staring at him. His eyes narrowed into slits.

“Of course, the glorious Potter is too proud to tell anyone if there’s anything bothering him,” he drawled, pacing around the room. “Only there wouldn’t be anything bothering him, would there? You have everything you need and more – fortune, fame, love – what could possibly anger you?”

A bitterness rang in his voice, causing Harry to look up, despite harnessing his anger.

“Unless I am the problem? Malfoy mused, a smirk now on his face. “Surely not – I am just a mere old school rival, one who couldn’t possibly stand in your way. Though I am the one who’s most likely going to take over this case and solve it a lot faster than you would. Does that make you mad, Potter?” Malfoy was now in front of Harry, standing over him, sneering. “Are you mad that of all people, I’m the one who’s helping you, but you know now that I could have done a better job than you?” 

Harry could feel his face growing warm, both in frustration and something else, something intense. Malfoy’s face was close to his, hands on either arm rest so he was now invading his space. He could feel Malfoy’s breath on his lips, and he found himself suppressing a shiver.

“Do I really have that much of an effect on you?” Malfoy whispered, grinning, staring Harry down.

Static filled the air, and Harry felt frozen in his seat, unable to look away from Malfoy. Hatred boiled his blood, making his head feel dizzy. He wanted to push him away, to curse him every way to Sunday. But he also wanted to pull him closer, to feel his warmth against his own, to entangle their loathing and resentment together – 

Harry stood up quickly, knocking Malfoy who stumbled backwards, shocked at the sudden movement.

“Keep working on this,” Harry choked out and he stormed out of his office, ignoring Malfoy’s confusion. He hurried to the closest bathroom, where he locked the door and slumped against it, trying to control his breathing, and trying desperately to ignore his hard-on pressing painfully underneath his robes. 

He was embarrassed – he couldn’t get effected by any sort of close contact that he’s been deprived of, especially if it’s Malfoy who was arising repressed sexual frustration. 

He couldn’t let Malfoy get in the way of his work and life. He wouldn’t let it.

*

Ginny stared at Harry, biting back laughter.

“It’s not funny!” he exploded, seeing her face. “It’s not like it means anything.”

“What, the fact that you’re hard for Malfoy?” she said, giggling. “It’s hilarious. I mean you’ve always been obsessed with him, but I didn’t realise it was this intense.”

“What – I’ve – I’ve never – “Harry spluttered, cheeks flushing. Ginny fell about laughing, falling off the sofa. 

“Never what, Harry?” Luna’s voice sounded. Harry turned around to see Luna standing at the door, watching the scene with mild amusement. She walked over and placed the tray of tea and cakes on the table and sat herself down next to Harry.

“Nothing,” he said hastily, shooting glares at Ginny, who had now curled at Luna’s feet, resting her head on her knees and grinning at Harry.

“Pushing things down never ends well, Harry,” Luna muses, adjusting her Spectrespecs on her head. “It’s bad for your health – attracts a lot of Nargles.”

“Honestly, Luna, it’s nothing,” Harry smiled weakly, grabbing a teacup. “Things with Malfoy have been a bit difficult recently.”

“How so?”

“He keeps making remarks and insulting me when we’re working, and it’s making it hard to concentrate on the Jugson case. Not to mention he leaves shit all over both of our desks that makes it impossible to find half of the paperwork. And there was an … incident last week, and it’s made things a lot harder.”

“Harder, you say?” Ginny smirked, closing her eyes when Luna went to curl her fingers in her ginger locks.

Harry scowled, hoping Luna wouldn’t pick up on it. Thankfully, Luna passed over the comment, saying “I’m sure things will even out soon enough. I can imagine Malfoy is only trying to get your attention. People tend to do that when they like you.”

Harry coughed violently, his tea going the wrong way. Gasping for air, he set his cup down and stared at Luna incredulously.

“Malfoy doesn’t like me,” he almost shouted. “He hates me. And how does insulting someone mean you like them?”

Luna’s lips twitched, as if she were hiding a smile. “I by no means am saying that violence or rudeness is a precursor for romance. However, Malfoy did constantly tease you when he was younger, and he most definitely had a crush on you; anyone could see that from a mile away. So, all I’m saying is that some past feelings have arisen, you know, now the war is over and you’ve both cleaned up very well. Though I love women, I must say that you are extremely attractive now you’ve grown out of your baby face.”

Harry bit his lip, shaking his head. “I doubt it, Luna. He’s been nothing but a twat since the day we met, and besides, he’s straight. And I don’t like him. Not at all.”

Luna and Ginny looked at each other with entertained expressions. “That is true,” Ginny said slowly, the sarcasm wasted on Harry. 

He sat further back into his chair, nodding in temporary satisfaction. He finished his tea and picked up a slice of cake. “Sorry, but I’m going to head back home. Kreacher’s making dinner, and he said it had to be eaten at six pm on the dot. Some special ingredients – or maybe it’s just poison.”

“That’s alright. Besides, we have someone round for dinner as well,” Ginny said, standing up to give him a hug. “Take care.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Luna added, squeezing his hand. “I’ll pop into your office at some point this week.”

“Sounds good. Bye, guys.” 

Harry Disapparated, the crack echoing through the living room.

Ginny wound her arms around Luna’s waist, dropping her chin on her shoulder. “How stupid can men get?”

“I wouldn’t call it stupidity,” Luna answered, locking her fingers through Ginny’s. “Blindness is more appropriate. And I would still say boys, not men.”

“We’re going to get another lot of this in half an hour,” Ginny groaned, moving the tea and cake back into the kitchen. “I can’t deal with this! They’re both so idiotic. Can’t we just tell them?”

“I as good as gave it away to Harry, and it went right over his head,” Luna said. “And they say lesbians are oblivious.” 

“Well, we were probably just as bad.”

“You mean you were,” Luna giggled. “I practically threw myself at you for months.”

“If by threw yourself at me you strategically smiled at me three times a day to increase the chances that ‘your essence would enter my conscience and tell me in my sleep’, then I must agree that I clearly was extremely blind.” Ginny rolled her eyes, grinning, and pulled Luna against her, tangling his fingers in her hair.

“You amaze me,” Luna smiled, leaning forward to kiss her girlfriend. 

They kissed against the kitchen counter, enjoying the smouldering fire kindling in their stomachs. Just as things began to stir, a crack was heard outside the house, causing the two to break apart. 

The door opened, and Malfoy strode into the kitchen, raising his eyebrows at their embrace.

“I won’t have you flaunting your happiness in front of me,” he said, his lips slightly curled upwards. Luna reached out to give Malfoy a hug, threading a flower behind his ear.

“Not our fault you’re still single,” she replied, waving her wand and plates, cutlery, and glasses flew out of the cupboards onto the dining table. Ginny wrapped her arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, giving him a brief squeeze. “How was work?” 

“It was okay,” Malfoy answered, patting her back. “Though it’s not getting any better with Potter up my arse every second of every day.”

Ginny tried not to show her amusement at his choice of words, instead adopting and overly sympathetic tone. “No, really? I thought by now you would have adapted a good work dynamic.”

“The work is fine,” Malfoy said, accepting a glass of water off Luna. “When we’re working, we’re focused on the task at hand, but once we’re in the office, he finds any way to annoy the living shit out of me!” 

Luna placed a hand on his arm sympathetically. “Just ignore him,” she advised. “Trust me, it’ll get better soon enough. Harry’s a good man.”

“He might be, but that doesn’t stop him from hating me.” A sullenness made its way into his voice.

Ginny and Luna exchanged glances as they led Malfoy into the dining room. “He doesn’t hate you, Draco,” Ginny said, sitting herself down opposite him.

Malfoy scoffed. “Yeah right. He doesn’t give a shit about me. He wouldn’t, would he – Potter and his special scar and job and connections – “

Ginny began to giggle silently, hiding her face.

*

Harry ground his teeth together. “For the tenth time, Malfoy, shut up. We’re getting close.”

“So you say, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, pacing the office. “Yet it’s been yet another month, and you still haven’t found Jugson.”

“You are also part of all of this. How come you haven’t used any more special Death Eater methods to find him?”

Malfoy flinched slightly, his left arm twitching. “It can’t be done as easily now He Who Must Not Be Named is gone.”

“He Who Must Not Be Named?” Harry sneered. “What, you didn’t call him The Dark Lord like the rest of them? Salty that you two weren’t buddy buddy enough to call him Voldemort?”

“If you know what’s good for you, Potter, you will shut your mouth.” Malfoy’s tone twisted unpleasantly, halting his pacing. His breathing seemed to be speeding up. 

Harry ignored the clear danger and pressed on, blinded by his anger flaring up in his body. “You don’t want to talk about your favourite overlord? I mean, I’m not surprised – he did kind of destroy millions of lives and kill my whole family. Hard to swallow, right?”

Malfoy turned away from him, fists clenching. “Seriously, shut it,” he snarled.

Harry opened and then closed his mouth, knowing that if he provoked Malfoy into attacking him or blowing up the office, Kingsley would have a lot to say to the both of them. He looked back down at the paperwork, running his hands through his hair as he forced his brain to work. A tense silence filled the room.

Harry glanced up to see Malfoy reading the work on his desk, his chin propped on his hand. His eyes flickered across the pages, his expression now neutral and almost peaceful, save for a small crease between his eyebrows. The sun highlighted his face pleasantly and glinted in his white-blond hair. Harry found himself unable to look away, strangely transfixed by the man in front of him. Even though they argued almost constantly and still pretend to have a rivalry with each other, he knew he didn’t really hate Malfoy despite how much he infuriated Harry.

Malfoy’s gaze suddenly shifted as he caught Harry staring. Surprisingly, a blush dusted across his cheeks before he looked back at the work, grunting “what do you want?”

Harry felt his face growing hot, silently kicking himself for being caught. “Nothing.”

“Thinking of new ways to insult me? Seeing as you ran thin earlier.”

Harry couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. “No, Malfoy.”

“Wouldn’t shock me, seeing as you have to come out on top every time because of your golden boy complex.” 

Harry exhaled heavily, frustration quickly replacing the silent appreciation he was feeling for Malfoy. “Why do you constantly go out of your way to be difficult and pick a fight with me?” he asked, too tired to look up.

“Because you never do?” Malfoy said coldly. “I hate to break it to you, Chosen One, but you’re not exactly the most warm and welcoming person when it comes to me.”

“Maybe because you haven’t exactly been the best person to me in the past – did that ever cross your mind?”

Malfoy huffed out a laugh. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? Poor Potter and his woeful life – bullied relentlessly by a colleague for him to go out in the public and be adored, to go home to a warm house with friends who can actually stand being in the same room as him, and to sleep soundly knowing his life is so easy, even though he has to see one of the most hated people ever day at work who may or may not be able to see through his Golden Boy façade and will talk to him like he’s the shithead he really is.”

Harry felt his body tense and heat up during Malfoy’s bitter speech. “You still think I’m happy? You think you’re the only thing that could ruin my day?” Harry knew he shouldn’t get het up by this – hell, after years of people assuming he enjoyed being Harry Potter, he’d learnt to ignore it all and not retaliate, but for some reason his anger at the suggestion was more intense than ever before, and he knew he was seconds away from exploding.

Malfoy, unfortunately, didn’t pick up on any of the signs of Harry’s obvious distress. “You wear that scar like a medal of honour. You scramble for attention, basking in your glory that will stay with you forever. Everyone loves you, everyone either wants to be you or be with you, everyone wishes they could be the Chosen One – and you lap it all up every day, begging for more, no matter how privileged you are. You love being Harry Potter.” His expression was bitter and lazy as he stared at Harry.

It started to falter when he saw Harry’s.

Harry began to speak, his tone smooth and sarcastic. “Of course, Malfoy. Who wouldn’t want to be me? My parents were both murdered because of me because Voldemort saw me as a threat. You know the prophecy that your dad wanted so bad? That could have also applied to Neville – Voldemort could have gone after him instead, but he chose me and killed my parents before I could remember them. I didn’t ask to be born, I didn’t ask to be the Chosen One, but I am, and I can’t change or control that. But of course, it doesn’t matter that my parents died, just if I get to be famous and be constantly reminded of the fact.

“Being raised to eventually die anyway was fun as well, forced to be prepared to fight in a war when I was eleven. To see my friends and more of my family die because they were protecting me. I adore being haunted by nightmares of them dying again and again in front of me, knowing that it’s all my fault. Being stalked and followed and talked about from the moment I stepped foot in school was incredibly encouraging, especially when everyone started talking about how fucking insane I was. Yes, I happily wear my scar like a badge since I fucking love it when people keep trying to look for it. Because if I’ve got money and I died for the greater good, then it doesn’t matter that I was traumatised by watching Cedric die in front of me, or seeing my godfather fall through the Veil, or being ignored, belittled, and abused by the only blood relatives I have, as long as I get to be famous, right?”

Harry’s voice kept raising in volume. Various objects had started to float around the room due to his anger flaring out of control. Malfoy’s expression had changed to one of guilt and shock as he sat frozen in his chair.

“I’m not trying to claim that I have the hardest life or that I believe that you should feel sorry for me, but you should get your head out of your arse for one fucking minute and see that I would do anything to be anyone else. I would do anything to see my parents again and be able to walk down a street without people staring at me and talking about me. I want to be fucking normal with a normal family and a normal life. But I can’t. And I never can. So, fuck you.”

Several glass ornaments shattered suddenly, making Malfoy jump violently. Harry tried to control his breathing, cursing himself that he’d let his magic get out of hand and that he had just blurted out a lot of pent up anger at Malfoy of all people. 

Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to hear anything he had to say. 

“Forget it,” Harry said shortly, sitting back down and stared down at his desk. “Forget I said anything.”

A horrible silence filled the room, the air turning thick with awkwardness. Harry wanted to Disapparate on the spot, feeling dizzy with emotion and embarrassment. Malfoy wouldn’t ever let this die and would most definitely take the piss out of him now.

A sound made Harry look back up. Malfoy was fixing the ornaments and putting back most of the objects that had flown off their tables. His back was turned towards Harry, as if he were afraid to look at him.

Malfoy inhaled softly. “The Muggles abused you?”

Harry sat stunned, unable to process the question straight away. “What?”

Malfoy turned around to look at him, his expression pinched with apprehension. “You said you were abused by your family, the Muggles you lived with.”

“Oh,” Harry said awkwardly. “Yeah – I used to live in the cupboard under the stairs, and I’d get locked in there without food or water for several days if I did something wrong, which was usually small acts of magic I wasn’t aware of.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows furrowed. “They didn’t know you were a wizard?”

“They knew, but they didn’t tell me. My uncle admitted to trying to repress the magic out of me when bringing me up.”

“Fuck,” Malfoy whispered. He moved slowly forward to sit opposite Harry again, still hesitant to make eye contact with him. Twice he opened his mouth to say something, clearly afraid to speak again. Then – 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Harry snorted in spite of himself. “Why would I? It didn’t matter. Other things were more important. And I doubt anyone would have believed me – deranged nutter gone mad from fame, right?”

Malfoy shrank in his seat slightly, making Harry curse inwardly yet again. Everything still felt electric from his short-lived rage, and he knew he’d probably shoot sparks if he flared up again. 

Harry sighed deeply. “Why do you care if the Muggles abused me?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Malfoy didn’t answer for several seconds, his gazed fixed into empty space. He raked his fingernails over the back of his hand before answering. “Because my aunt used to.”

Harry didn’t need to think to know that Malfoy was talking about Bellatrix. Suddenly the thin scars that littered his hands, arms, and neck stood out even more, and Harry’s stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“Why?”

“I was weak,” Malfoy said bitterly. “I was one of the youngest Death Eaters, brought in because of my father’s failure. My aunt taught me Legilimency and knew how I really felt about everything – how I resented You-Know-Who, how I hated having the Dark Mark, how I wanted to run away from it all – and she punished me until I could hide everything. She trained me to kill Dumbledore, and when I didn’t do it, she tortured me for two days. She made sure to ingrain the message into me that I wasn’t worthy and that I needed to be better. I never was.”

Harry didn’t want to hear any more, didn’t need to hear anymore to understand. His mind showed him the image of Hermione’s arm dripping with blood after Bellatrix had paused her torture. 

Malfoy stood up abruptly. Harry followed him with his eyes, the sick feeling in his stomach increasing with nervousness. His heart rate sped up even more when he saw Malfoy reaching to pull his robes over his head, exposing his back. 

Words were carved into almost every inch on his skin. 

Traitor. Coward. Mudblood-lover. 

Worst of all, the largest deepest word cut across his back still shone as if raw.

Faggot.

Harry found himself walking towards him, stumbling blindly until he was four inches away from Malfoy’s pale skin. His eyes stung as he gazed at the slits littered over his back, shocked at how they seemed to worsen the longer he stared. Harry’s hand raised slowly, unaware of what he was doing, until his fingers rested on his shoulder.

Malfoy tensed, his muscles tightening, before relaxing as if a weight had been removed. Harry interpreted it as an indication to let his touch travel, tracing along the scars, silently wishing that they would disappear. He traced across his shoulders, down his spine, crossing his waist, his thumbs eventually coming to rest in the dimples at the bottom of Malfoy’s back, his fingers splaying along his hips. Harry’s breathing became almost laboured, overcome with the raw nature of the moment they were trapped in. Awkwardness was clogging his throat, but a more intense warmth was burning away at his senses, telling him to push his body against Malfoy’s, to cover his damaged back from any more harm. Harry closed his eyes, his forehead falling forwards and resting on Malfoy’s short blond strands, his nose pressing gently against his neck.

The two men stayed still for their own eternity, both trying to control their breathing as subtly as possible. Harry’s fingers pressed harder into Malfoy’s sides subconsciously, shuffling forward. Malfoy turned so he was suddenly encircled in his arms, his own hands staying stoic by his side, evidently repressing small tremors spasming through his arms. His expression looked calm but heavy, clearly still burdened by his scars. Malfoy looked Harry in the eyes, who was suddenly so aware of how grey Malfoy’s iris’ were, very resembling of the moon, and how they lacked the spark Harry hadn’t seen since their fifth year. 

With the intensity of eye contact, Harry let his glance trail down. It didn’t go far as he became fixated by Malfoy’s chest.

Unlike his back, it wasn’t covered in cuts and scars, so most of his skin was clean and visible – apart from the five long erratic slashes branded across his neck, chest, and stomach.

Guilt plunged through Harry’s body, turning his heart cold. He knew all too well how those scars came to be, and that he was responsible for them. One stupid mistake, one irrational thought, one word, and he had almost killed Draco Malfoy. If he had just stopped, put his wand down, and tried to speak to him – maybe things would be different. Maybe they would have somehow been on the same side of the war.

Harry’s hand raised to touch the scar just on Malfoy’s throat, feeling him swallow and shiver. Blood was pounding through his body, his fingers pulsating as he dragged them along the rest of the scars, trailing over his chest, coming to a halt over his heart, pressing his palm into Malfoy’s skin to feel his pulse, who’s was just as fast as his own. All that could be heard was their short breathing and blood rushing in their ears. Harry concentrated on the rise and fall of Malfoy’s chest.

The sound of rushing wind entered the office, shocking them both. Harry leant back suddenly, backing into Malfoy’s desk, whilst Malfoy staggered and almost fell down the steps. Both turned to see a lynx Patronus sitting in the centre of the room. 

“Advancement on Jugson. Meet at St Mungo’s Muggle ward.”

The Patronus dissipated. Harry and Malfoy looked at each other, mirroring expressions of curiosity and determination. Suddenly the awkwardness filled the room, air now thick with tension. Harry looked anywhere but at Malfoy’s chest.

“We’d better go now,” Harry coughed out, grabbing his wand and walking to wear Kingsley’s Patronus was. Malfoy grabbed his robe, quickly slipping it over his head, covering his scarred back and chest, and went to stand next to Harry, looking straight forward. Malfoy’s hand went out to grab Harry’s wrist in preparation for Apparation, yet misjudged the distance, as he found himself taking hold of his hand instead.

Harry knew that he should give Malfoy a chance to correct his mistake, but he was resolute to get to Kingsley and get closer to closing the case. So, he laced his fingers with Malfoy’s and clung tightly, nodding once before Disapparating. 

When they Apparated outside of St. Mungo’s Hospital, Malfoy immediately let go of Harry, striding quickly towards the entrance. Harry rushed after him, unable to shake the thought that he swore that Malfoy had clung back with more feeling that he’d want to admit. 

*

The night seemed uninterrupted as the cold breeze whistled though the trees. All four Aurors, hidden with Disillusion charms, positioned in their respected areas, partners stood together, waiting. After another month of Malfoy and Harry working almost every day and night tracing and tracking Jugson, finally they had found out where he was most commonly seen by both wizards and Muggles. Seeing as Malfoy and Harry had no real indication as to just how dangerous Jugson would be, they called four other Aurors to help. From where Harry was hiding, he could see Ron with his partner perched upon a roof nearby, his head now blending into the surroundings due to the charm. 

Harry and Malfoy stood behind one of the deserted buildings, the only two with the Invisibility Cloak instead. Despite how tall they had both grown, the Cloak managed to cover them entirely, though they both had to stand pressed against each other. Harry had to ignore Malfoy’s breath hitting the top of his head and his hand brushing his thigh, focusing as hard as he could on the empty space in front of him, where Jugson was guaranteed to appear. 

The wait stretched out painfully. Harry let himself lean backwards to rest against Malfoy’s chest, feeling Malfoy hesitate before his hands came to rest on his hips, wand held in his left hand.

Harry let his thoughts wander, unable to fully process how his work with Malfoy had surpassed the original three-month mark – now at five – and how it was almost over. After this case was closed, Malfoy would be moved to become an independent Auror. Harry thought it selfish of him to feel deflated by the idea of Malfoy leaving his office. No more snide remarks, no more teasing – no more Malfoy.

Harry let out a deep sigh, his head falling back to rest on Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy let out a small chuckle, nudging him to put his head upright.

“Keep alert when on duty, Potter,” he whispered, smirking in Harry’s ear and squeezing his hips. Harry tried not to jump along with his fluttering heart and stood lightly on Malfoy’s foot in retaliation. 

Swiftly, the air changed, and a crack sounded in the silence. Harry stilled, peering out to see a tall figure emerge from the shadows. Dark tattered robes waved in the wind as the man walked forward, his wand brandished. 

Malfoy exhaled, his grip tightening on Harry.

Suddenly, another small noise resounded, slate hitting the floor. Immediately the man twisted, his wand held out. Harry hesitated for a second, unsure what to do next, but Malfoy made the decision for him.

A non-verbal curse was cast, and Malfoy appeared from under the invisibility cloak to stand in front of the man. Jugson deflected lazily, and smirked when he saw who cast it.

“Ah, Malfoy,” he chuckled coldly. “Shielding yourself with the good side, are we?”

Malfoy didn’t react, walking forward calmly. “Seeing you’re trying to become the next Voldemort,” he replied, not even stuttering when saying his name.

Jugson flushed slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. “You think you’re brave because you’ve said his name? You think because he isn’t here to read your thoughts that you can say whatever you want?”

Malfoy didn’t answer, his grip on his wand tightening. Jugson grinned.

“Still the fairy fag, aren’t you,” he murmured, beginning to circle Malfoy. “Fairy fag who was in love with P- “

Another spell interrupted the silence, a white bang leaving Malfoy’s wand, his face highlighted in sudden rage. Harry and the rest of the Aurors immediately jumped out of their hiding spaces, also shooting their own curses and jinxes at the Death Eater. 

The air was now filled with loud bangs and flashing lights, the Aurors encircling Jugson, sending multiple spells and deflecting others. Harry couldn’t keep up with who was casting what, but all he could do was concentrate on the enemy in front of him.

After what felt like hours of battling, Harry and Malfoy were side by side fighting Jugson head on. Two Aurors were unconscious nearby, unknown to anyone whether they were dead or not, with Ron and his partner either side firing curse after curse. 

Harry’s back hit the building behind him, thankful that the whole area was abandoned. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and his arm was growing sore. Malfoy was working ten times as hard, panting fitfully as spells fired from his wand faster and faster. Explosions were getting louder and larger, and Harry was starting to see flashes of images of the final battle of Hogwarts. Students and teachers crumbling, Fred being blasted apart, giants falling, Lupin and Tonks’ dead bodies, Snape’s bleeding body, the green light – 

Harry stumbled, falling forward, shaking from the memories flashing rapidly, disturbing his vision. Malfoy wasted no time, standing in front of him, still shooting spells. His expression was contorted in pain, anger, and panic. Malfoy had to decide in a split second.

Harry heard him cry out a spell he’d never heard before. The loudest explosion yet sounded, black smoke clouded everything, and Harry felt himself being pulled towards someone. He squinted to see Jugson being blown backwards, back flat on the ground. His own body, along with Malfoy, was flung back through the wall of the building, the pain taking several seconds to catch up with him. Giving his vulnerable position, Ron was able to send the final stunning spell to knock him out, but before he could, Jugson shot one more spell at the building Harry and Malfoy were now lying in.

A crack and crash, and Harry saw no more.

-

Dust and rubble – a smell Harry was all too familiar with.

He opened his eyes, only to become aware of the pain that was radiating in his leg and head, and the weight of Draco Malfoy on top of him. That and parts of the building that they were previously in was now around and above them, trapping them in.

Harry’s throat felt coated with treacle, as well as part of his forehead. As he regained his consciousness, he started to hear someone calling for him.

“Potter. Potter!”

Harry tried to focus in the dark, finally finding an outline of a face hovering above him. Despite now being fully conscious, everything still looked blurry, causing Harry to realise that his glasses were gone. 

“Potter!”

Malfoy’s voice cracked, fear and emotion splitting through the cramped space. Harry finally snapped back into the present.

The face above him didn’t become any clearer due to his terrible eyesight, the dark environment, and a seemingly black burn crawling along the edges of his vision. However, he could comprehend that Malfoy was staring at him with a panicked expression, only several inches away from his face.

Harry coughed before he tried to speak. “M-Malfoy…”

Malfoy let out what sounded like a strangled sob. “Thank fuck. Fuck, are you okay? Where’s your wand?”

Harry tried to move his body, but was unable to shift anything but his fingers, which were on Malfoy’s back. Concentrating harder, he felt an object digging uncomfortably into his back, most likely his wand.

“Under me,” Harry wheezed, shocked at how quiet his voice was. “Can’t reach.”

“Damn it,” Malfoy muttered, shifting his arms around Harry’s head. “I can’t find mine – I think – I think it’s somewhere – I think it’s broken.”

The defeat in Malfoy’s voice made Harry’s heart ache. He tried to rub his back in reassurance, despite parts of the building weighing down on the two men. 

“R-Ron. Where’s Ron and J-Jugson?” Harry whispered. “Why are we h-here. What happened?”

“Jugson blew up the building,” Malfoy answered. “I shouldn’t have used that spell – I knew it would distract him, but we wouldn’t be here, we wouldn’t be fucking crushed by this. I don’t know why we aren’t being saved.”

Harry frowned. “Maybe – maybe Jugson got free. Maybe – “

“Don’t say it,” Malfoy said harshly, a hint of panic slipping through. “Someone will come and help us soon.”

Harry was finding it harder to stay awake, and breathing was getting more difficult with Malfoy and the rubble pressing down on him.

“Why – why are you on t-top of me?” Harry asked.

A silence hovered between them, Malfoy’s breathing quickening slightly.

“I wanted to – I wanted to protect you,” Malfoy said quietly, his tone embarrassed. “As soon as the spell hit the house, I jumped over you, hoping it would shield you.”

Harry felt confused. “Why? Why would you do that?”

Malfoy didn’t answer straightaway again, small whimpers and sobs escaping his mouth. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you’ve done to me. I’m not supposed to give a shit about what happens to you. I’m not supposed to care about you, or want to speak to you, or to get close to you – “ 

Malfoy stopped talking to catch his breath, which had spiralled out of control. Harry couldn’t properly process what he’d heard, or what any of it meant. He attempted to hug Malfoy to calm him down, even though it was making his body hurt more. Malfoy exhaled heavily, his hands clenching into fists either side of Harry’s head. 

Harry’s vision began to swim, and he was really struggling to stay conscious. He knew he wasn’t dying, but he might be close if they weren’t found. 

He must have shown some visual cues that he was about to pass out because hands came to hold Harry’s cheeks.

“You need to stay awake, Potter,” Malfoy said desperately, brushing his thumbs against his skin. “You need to stay awake.”

Harry squinted up at the man above him, the man he had known since he was eleven. The man who was now clearly holding back tears. For him.

“You’re – you’re sad. Why are you sad?” Harry knew he was delirious once the words escaped his lips.

Malfoy chuckled. “Articulate, aren’t you. Well there’s a fucking building on top of us, no one around to save us for some fucking reason, and you’re fucking dying. So sorry if I feel a little bit less elated than usual.” Hysteria was evident in his voice, and Harry felt something wet drip onto his face.

Harry tried to comfort him again, this time managing to move his hands further up his back, raking his fingers up and down in an attempt to soothe him. Malfoy’s head dipped, coming to rest in the crook of Harry’s neck as he shook, trying to stop himself from crying more.

“What have you done to me, Harry,” he whispered helplessly.

Despite being on the brink of passing out – which he was no longer sure of whether it would be a permanent slumber or not – Harry opened his eyes a little bit wider and felt his chest tug with the same intensity and warmth as it did when he used to see Ginny playing Quidditch, Cho walking around with her friends – or when he saw Malfoy in the tree in fourth year, when Malfoy was standing in Myrtle’s bathroom crying, when Malfoy was facing him in the Room of Requirement.

Harry felt his own eyes welling up as he realised that he may not be able to tell Malfoy everything he was only coming to grasp with. The black was now crawling over his eyes and wasn’t going away.

“M-Malfoy…I can’t – I’m going to – I want to sleep – “

“No, you’re fucking not, don’t you fucking dare.” Malfoy raised his head off Harry’s shoulder to grip his face harder. “Stay alive, I need you to stay alive.”

“You’re – you’re so – “Harry struggled, his voice slurring. “So beautiful.”

“Harry.” Malfoy started to sob. “Please.”

“I wanted you t-to know that,” he murmured. “I wanted you to k-know.”

The darkness was too heavy. Harry let everything go limp as everything went numb and faded away. 

The last thing he heard was Malfoy calling out his name. 

*

The brightness of the room was hurting his eyes, even with them closed.

Harry’s eyelids fluttered.

He surveyed the hospital cubicle he was in, recognising the light blue curtains of St. Mungo’s. He turned around slowly in his bed, wincing as pain twanged through his head.

“Potter!”

Someone grabbed his hand, making him flinch in pain. He turned more to see Malfoy sitting by his bed, his hair curling wildly and eyes bloodshot, gripping his hand with both of his own. 

Harry’s heart fluttered, seeing just how soft Malfoy looked, despite his obvious need for sleep.

“Hi Draco,” he said sleepily, squeezing his fingers. “Why am I here?”

Malfoy huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “You don’t remember? Typical.”

“I mean, I remember the Jugson attack went a tad pear-shaped. And we got crushed. And I – did I die?”

Malfoy looked away for a second. “Almost. Kingsley found us – after none of us sent anything after the six-hour mark, he came with more Aurors to our location. Weasley and Finnigan were knocked out by the building as well, and Jugson was dead due to what I shot him with – that’s why he knocked down the house before he would have – “Malfoy paused, choosing not to finish his sentence. “I was still conscious at this point, and in hysterics as you weren’t moving, and I couldn’t breathe. You – you didn’t die, but you were really close.”

Harry frowned at the thought. “Well I guess I really am ‘The Boy Who Lived’. Bit of a shame for you, eh?” he said, trying to add humour to his tone despite an underlying bitterness.

Malfoy looked at Harry as if he were insane. “On the contrary, Potter. I’ve come to the conclusion that I would rather you didn’t die at any point. I think I’d mind a lot more than I thought.”

Harry’s expression turned to one of confusion. “But you hate me,” was all he could think to say.

Malfoy laughed, more to himself than anyone, and Harry’s heart began to beat faster as Malfoy leant closer. 

“You’re still just as oblivious.”

Malfoy moved his hands to cup his face and pressed his lips against Harry’s. 

Harry thought he was going to explode with all of the emotions that suddenly burst through a gate that was locked in his mind. Only now did he realise that ever since Malfoy had stepped into his office that first day, his heart had been beating faster and was feeling lighter than it had in years. His stomach was about to erupt butterflies because Malfoy was kissing him, kissing Harry, something that he had thought about countless times but had never acknowledged, until now, and he had to do something. 

Harry reached out and pulled at Malfoy’s waist, dragging him to sit up next to him as he moved his lips against Malfoy’s, overcome with desire that had been pent up for far too long. His hands went up the back of his jumper, running his fingers gently over the scars. Malfoy hummed, knotting his fingers in Harry’s unruly hair, kissing him passionately.

Harry broke away first, in need of oxygen, his head aching. He took in the beautiful sight in front of him, reaching up to loop his finger around a blond lock.

“So, you’re naturally curly?” Harry asked.

“Unfortunately,” Malfoy replied, touching it self-consciously.

Harry ran his fingers though it, relishing in its softness. “I like it,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Shut up, Potter,” he whispered, moving forward to kiss him again.


End file.
